


The Kings and the Parting

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [46]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Lots of Angst, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Running Away, Thorin gets depressed, Thranduil gets angry, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:38:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is feeling unwanted and unloved.  In the end, he decides to leave both Erebor and Thranduil and he sets out – who knows where - with the elven king in hot pursuit and in a very bad temper.  Naughty Bilbo tries to take advantage of the situation and does his best to make things worse.  And the two questions are: will our kings find love at last?  And what is that painting hanging on the dining-room wall, LOL?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and the Parting

 

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings and their Parting

 

Pt I

 

Thorin lay on his bed in Erebor, staring at the portrait of Thranduil that had been recently painted of his partner in Mirkwood.  He knew that a similar one of himself was hanging on the wall in the elven king’s bedroom, and, doubtless, Thranduil was lying on his own bed, staring at his version too.  Perfect masturbatory material, he had said.

 

Well, Thorin wasn’t masturbating because he was too busy thinking.  The painting was a glorious, erotic thing but it had been an absolute struggle, trying to get such a large canvas back to his apartment in Erebor, strapped to the side of a plodding packhorse.  And he had hung it himself, because he didn’t want half of Erebor knowing what he had on his bedroom wall.

 

Now the elven king, staring at him from under sultry eyelashes, was giving the dwarf food for thought.

 

A depression, such as he had not suffered from since before the battle of the five armies, was beginning to sweep over him once more.  Earlier in the day, he had descended to the Treasury, that massive room which was covered in mountains of gold.  Even though much of it had been given away, it still extended over a vast area.  Usually, it gave him great pleasure to look at it, to walk amidst it, to let it run through his fingers and to think that his Quest had succeeded and that he and his companions had helped to win back the hoard of his ancestors from the dragon, Smaug.

 

But, today, he had studied it in a melancholy.  Yes, it had been won back: but, at what cost?  How many dwarves, men and elves had died that day?  And those numbers had included Fili and Kili.  If he had truly known how it would all end, would he have set out from Ered Luin in the first place?

 

He had tried to tell himself that he had done the right thing: that if they had not set out, then Smaug and the other forces of evil would have gained control of Erebor and the North.  It had been more than merely about a pile of gold.  And, now that he lay on the bed, he consoled himself with the thought of all his friends who had supported him and still stood by him. 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

But, the more he thought about his friends, the more disconsolate he became.  Balin would soon be leaving him when he set out on his own quest for Moria.  Dwalin was all wrapped up in his new partner, Bris, as was Brangwyn with her husband, the heir of Durin, and their young son.  And now that Dis was married too, she hardly ever wrote from Ered Luin any more.

 

But, did he actually need all these close friends when he had Thranduil and Thranduil’s love?  He stared harder at the portrait.   Was it love, he suddenly asked himself?  All he could see in his lover’s eyes were lust and desire.  He suddenly felt very, very lonely and the suffocating depression tightened its hold.  Is that all he had in his life?  No friends, no love and only the small consolation of being the sex toy of an arrogant elven king?

 

He wondered at the whole point of his kingship.  He spent half his time in Mirkwood anyway and then, Young Thorin, his heir, and Brangwyn managed just as well, if not better, without him.  And what about his relationship with Thranduil?  Did the elf actually need him either?  Well, the elven king now had an erotic painting as a substitute for his presence: he was cold, distant and aloof – and perhaps a bit of pornography was all that he actually needed.  Thorin’s depressed thoughts continued to whisper such things in his ear and, in the end, they won the day.

 

In the early hours of the morning, bag in hand, Thorin made his way quietly down to the stables.  The stable-boy was asleep and he saddled his horse and led him to the gate.  The guard saluted him but it was not his business to ask his king where he was going.  And so, Thorin trotted out onto the wide plain before Erebor completely unimpeded.  He wasn’t quite sure where he was going nor did he exactly know why.  But, he did know that he no longer belonged in Erebor or with Thranduil.  He would ride west, with the rising sun on his back, and he would decide what to do and where to go as he rode along.

 

.o00o.

 

John, Thorin’s servant, emerged from his cubby-hole at dawn to make his master a cup of tea and prepare his bath.  With his partner, the elven king, arriving later in the day, he would want to be fresh and smartly-dressed - even if his clothes didn’t stay long on his back, John thought with amusement.   He made the tea, tapped politely on the bedroom door and entered the room.  To his surprise, the room was empty and the bed not slept in.  Had he gone out hunting?  He checked the wardrobe and felt a sudden concern when he discovered not only his riding clothes gone but a selection of other outfits too.

 

He was not too worried yet but, not knowing for how much longer his services were needed if there had been some sudden, unexpected change of plan - usually John left after breakfast on the day of Thranduil’s arrival – he went down to the dining hall.

 

“Hello, John,” said Balin in surprise.  “I thought that you’d be gone by now.  Where’s Thorin?”

 

Balin was sitting with the rest of Thorin’s most intimate friends and they all looked up with vague interest.

 

A puzzled look creased John’s forehead momentarily .  “That’s the problem,” he answered.  “He has disappeared from his room.  His bed hasn’t been slept in and some of his clothes are missing.  Do you think he’s decided to meet Thranduil on his way from Mirkwood?  I’m not quite sure whether to leave for Dale or not.”

 

They all looked at each other.  Their king’s sudden disappearance was out of character. And they were just about to discuss things when a tired-looking Thranduil strode into the hall.  “Where is he?” he asked curtly.  “I’ve just ridden through the night and he’s not in his room.”

 

“Umm, so he didn’t meet you en route?” said Dwalin.

 

“Does it look like it?” was the thin-lipped response.  The elf was feeling rather frustrated.  He had been looking forward to falling into bed with Thorin all that long ride and now he wasn’t available.  How very selfish of him not to make sure that he was ready and waiting for his lover’s arrival.  The dwarf knew how much he needed a good fuck after their two week separation and the elven king felt very hard done by.

 

“He’s disappeared, my lord,” said John politely.  “He didn’t sleep in his bed last night and various items of clothing have been taken from his wardrobe.”

 

Thranduil sat down.  For the first time, everyone gave each other a worried look.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Dwalin dashed off to the stables.  When he returned five minutes later, he at least came back with a bit of information.  “His horse has gone and the guard says that he left soon after midnight.  He headed up to the escarpment and the forest.  That’s the last anyone saw of him.”

 

“Perhaps he was worried about something,” suggested Brangwyn, “and perhaps he’s gone off to the elven retreat – you know, like he did last time, after that row you had.”  And she gave Thranduil an accusatory look.

 

“Well, we haven’t had a row this time,” snapped the elf in exasperation.

 

“But, you know how he can sometimes get a silly bee in his bonnet,” pressed the dwarf woman.

 

This was true and, because no-one could think of anything else, Thranduil had a quick breakfast and set out for the elven retreat immediately afterwards.  He rode with a certain speed, but he still took the best part of a day.  And, when he got to this beautiful, isolated spot in the forest and Thorin wasn’t there, he cursed under his breath.  _You just wait, Thorin,_ he muttered to himself.  _When I catch up with you….._

 

But he was so exhausted that he had to take a few hours sleep before he rode on once more, this time back to his stronghold in Mirkwood.  There, he checked to see that there were no messages from Erebor, sent a message of his own to Balin, had a brief chat with Legolas – “I have no idea at all how long I’ll be away!” he said, in a don’t-ask-questions sort of voice: so Legolas didn’t – packed a bag and selected a fresh horse, one with speed and stamina.

 

Then he set out on his journey.  He had no clues as to where he should go, but all he could do was make for Ered Luin in the hope that, for some reason, this was where Thorin was heading.  It always seemed a good idea to go west.  And, after a few days, it would appear that he had made the right choice, because the odd traveller on his route gave him news about a large and taciturn dwarf whom they had passed on the way.

 

“Did he say where he was going?” he asked.

 

“Nope, couldn’t get more than a grunt out of him, the miserable sod.”

 

The epithet ‘miserable’ was not encouraging and Thranduil wondered yet again what on earth had got into the dwarven king.

 

Meanwhile, Thorin was at least a day ahead of Thranduil.  He pushed forward because he guessed that the elf would be looking for him.  He passed the time by wondering about his lover’s reaction when he had found him gone. Tender concern?  Or just downright sexual frustration when he discovered that his sexual plaything was not waiting there so that he could have a satisfying screw?  If Thorin had known how close he was to that mark, he would have been even more depressed than he was at the moment and it would have confirmed him in his belief that he was doing the right thing.

 

For some weeks, his horse plodded steadily onwards, avoiding Beorn’s house, Elrond’s stronghold and Bree – especially Bree: he didn’t want any trouble like he had had that last time.  And he refused to talk to any strangers on the road whose path he crossed.  Finally, he knew he had to make a decision.  He had come to a fork in the road: if he carried straight on, he would eventually reach the Blue Mountains of Ered Luin and his sister would take him in.  He would be back with his own people - but is this what he wanted?  Or he could carry on past Ered Luin to the Grey Havens and take a ship for somewhere – anywhere that might be beyond the reach of Thranduil.  But, if he turned right, he would come to Hobbiton where doubtless Bilbo would put him up for a night or two.  He could use the hobbit as a sounding board and talk things through with him.

 

Thorin turned right.

 

Meanwhile, Thranduil was in steady pursuit.  On some days, he was anxious that something had happened or would happen to Thorin.  On others, he tore himself apart, questioning his own behaviour and wondering why the dwarf had left him.  And, then of course, the natural reaction to all this worry was to feel really, really angry that his lover was leading him such a merry dance – and for no good reason as far as he could see.  He spent hours, sometimes, as his horse trotted along, thinking darkly of all the punishments he would mete out on the dwarven king once he caught up with him.

 

He had plenty of time to think about their relationship too - how it had started, how it had changed over a period of years.  It had been so gentle – cautious even – at first as they had explored each other’s bodies and feelings, circling each other like wary animals.  From the moment he had first seen Thorin in Erebor to the time that the dwarf had finished up in his dungeons, there had been this sexual tension between them which had lasted 60 years – SIXTY YEARS!  It was unbelievable, really, and when they finally came together they were both frightened that the magical spell that seemed cast over them would break if they didn’t tread softly.

 

And it _was_ magical.  How beautiful Thorin had appeared in his eyes.  Yes, he was short and hairy and tattooed and bearded and very, very muscular – all the things that an elf expected to find repulsive.  But, the strange thing was, the dwarf hadn’t repulsed him but had attracted him in a way that no other creature had ever done before.

 

And, when they had finally climbed into bed with each other, Thranduil had been overwhelmed by Thorin’s shyness and inexperience.  He had not been expecting it, not from a king and a forceful, confident leader.  But, he had had to show the dwarf what to do every step of the way and it had made Thranduil tender – a word utterly unknown in his vocabulary before that moment.  Those first nights together were something to store in the memory: the physicality of the experience had been incredibly intense as they both found release from 60 years of powerful emotions and sexual frustrations.  But there had also been something remarkable and sweet and fresh – the sort of sensation that could only be experienced a few times before the novelty faded.

 

It had been a very pure sort of love and, until he had met Thorin, Thranduil hadn’t believed in love.  But, now he remembered the times that they had just lain there, facing each other with their heads on the pillow, gazing into each other’s eyes with such feeling…….  Thranduil could remember that feeling as if it were yesterday and he was deeply wounded that Thorin had obviously forgotten.  As to himself, he had packed that precious memory away deep, deep in his heart as their relationship had grown and matured into a vivid, living thing, full of jealousies and arguments and passion and intense sexual moments.  Surely no-one in all of Middle-earth could have a love like theirs?  And yet Thorin appeared to have thrown it all away.  The violence of Thranduil’s thoughts as he turned this over in his mind verged on the murderous.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

When Bilbo opened the door of Bag End and found Thorin standing there, he gawped in amazement.  After his escape from Erebor – and an ‘escape’ it had been, because he had been very naughty and the two kings had been after his ring – he had assumed that, sadly, he would never see Thorin again.

 

“Well, invite me in, then,” snapped the dwarven king in the end, after waiting some time for the hobbit to get over the shock.

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” stuttered Bilbo, throwing wide the door.  He ushered him in and sat him down comfortably by the fire and then began fussing around, providing his guest with refreshments.  “Er, have you got a problem?” he finally asked as the king sat there silent and brooding.

 

Thorin leaned back tiredly in the comfortable chair with a sigh.  “I’ll tell you all about it after dinner,” he said.  “I’ll stay for at least the night.”

 

 _Humph!  Making assumptions about my willingness to entertain him_ , muttered Bilbo to himself.  But, actually, he was really pleased that this seemed more than a flying visit.  And then he began to wonder why the dwarf was on his own.

 

But, he asked no more questions until after the splendid evening meal had been eaten and they were sitting once more in front of the fire with a glass of wine.

 

“So, how’s Thranduil?” Bilbo asked, in what he thought was a safe opener.

 

“I’ve left him,” said Thorin bleakly.  “In fact, I’ve left Erebor.”

 

“What?!” exclaimed the hobbit, his jaw dropping.  “What on earth are you talking about?”

 

“They don’t need me there,” he continued, gazing into the fire.  “Young Thorin and Brangwyn can run the kingdom just as well without me.  My old friends don’t need me either.”

 

“But – but – what about Thranduil?  He’s your partner – your One?”

 

“He doesn’t love me,” was the stark response.  “I’m only a sex object.  I suddenly woke up to that fact one night and I knew I had to leave – to run away and hide from him.  I expect he’s only a few days behind me.  He hates being thwarted and, if he catches up with me, he’ll probably drag me back to Erebor more likely than not – to do my ‘duty’ by both him and my people.”

 

A stunned Bilbo patted the dwarf in a kindly way on the shoulder.  “Poor you,” he said.  But, he was trying to disguise the grin that threatened to spread across his face.  Thorin had broken up with Thranduil.  Unbelievable!   And the dwarven king had turned to him for help.  He would have to handle this very carefully.  He pulled up a stool next to Thorin and gently took hold of his hand.  “Let’s talk it through,” he said.  “It might help.”

 

Thorin made no attempt to pull his hand away.  “I suddenly realised that I couldn’t stay in Erebor any more, not in a place where no-one loved or needed me.”

 

 _I love and need you_ , thought Bilbo.  _In fact, I need you right now – on the floor, on the sofa, over the table.  Anywhere_.

 

“Will you go to Ered Luin?” he asked, tenderly stroking Thorin’s strong fingers.

 

“That was my intention initially but that’s the first place that Thranduil will look for me and I don’t want to cause trouble for Dis, not now she’s so happy in her marriage.  I think it’s best if I go to the Grey Havens and take ship to Minas Tirith or a city even further south.  Start a new life where no-one knows me - as a mercenary or a smith or something.  I’ve got a bag of gold with me to help me on my way.”

 

The little hobbit was shocked that the dwarf intended to go so far.  “You’ve got to write to me,” he said.  “Keep in touch, you know.  And if you get into financial difficulties, I can always help you out.  I’ve still got plenty left from that troll hoard.”

 

Thorin was touched.  He still had at least one friend left.

 

“How’s Dwalin?” Bilbo asked.  “Did it take long for him to get over me?”

 

There was a long pause before the answer came:  “He’s found a new partner - Bris, the lady tattoo artist.”  How guilty did Thorin feel at that moment!  If it hadn’t been for him and Thranduil,  Bilbo and Dwalin would still be together.  And now the hobbit was living all on his own once more.

 

Bilbo looked heartbroken and rubbed away a crocodile tear.  “And I thought I had found the love of my life,” he said tragically, turning the screws.

 

Thorin squeezed the hobbit’s hand.  “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” he said.  And he was.  “If there’s anything I can do to make things up to you……”  Well, Bilbo knew what he could do, but he wasn’t saying anything yet.  However, the dwarf’s obvious guilt was good and hopefully would put him in the right frame of mind.

 

“I’m tired,” sighed Thorin.  I haven’t slept in a bed for weeks.  I need some sleep now because, ten to one, Thranduil will be hammering on your door tomorrow, so I’ll need to set off early.”

 

Bilbo graciously showed him to the guest bedroom and shut the door behind him.  _I’ll give it an hour_ , he thought, before trotting off to make himself a cup of tea.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

When Bilbo crept into Thorin’s room an hour later, the dwarf was in a deep sleep, dreaming of Thranduil.  His unconscious body yearned for him even when his waking mind rejected him.  And so, when Thorin felt a naked body climb into bed with him and press against his back, he sighed with pleasure.

 

He was in Erebor and he and his partner had been apart for two weeks.  Now, the elf was with him again: he breath felt hot upon his neck, a hand stretched around his waist to caress his hardening cock, the elf’s own stiff member slid between his buttocks, whilst his hairy feet……..

 

Hairy feet!!!  Thorin was awake in an instant and Bilbo suddenly found himself sprawling on the floor.

 

“How many times?” yelled the dwarf.   “How many times do I have to say no, no and no?!”

 

Bilbo didn’t look the slightest bit guilty: instead, he glared with a disgruntled look on his face from his position on the floor.  “I thought you might be missing Thranduil,” he grumbled, “and, as a friend, I was just offering you a bit of replacement affection.  You really don’t seem to appreciate a kindly gesture, do you?”

 

Thorin opened his mouth to shout again – and then rolled back on his pillow and snorted resignedly.  “You’ll never change, will you, Bilbo?  I give up.  Just shut the door behind you when you go.  I’m leaving first thing but I think you owe me a slap-up breakfast in exchange for that fumble.”  And he turned his back on the hobbit who made his exit from the bedroom, still grumbling indignantly.

 

But, Thorin did get a magnificent breakfast and they parted company, if not the greatest of friends, at least on reasonable terms.  “Are you going to the Grey Havens?” asked Bilbo.

 

“No, I’ve decided to circle around and go back to Rivendell.  Elrond will make me welcome and I shall get my thoughts together in the peace of that place before I move on.”

 

.o00o.

 

And so it was, when an angry elven king came thundering on his door that night, a rather grumpy Bilbo made no attempt to hide Thorin’s movements from him.  “He’s not here – he’s gone to Rivendell,” he volunteered as Thranduil pushed his way inside.

 

“I’ll stay the night, then,” said the elf curtly, without even a by-your-leave.  But, he cornered the hobbit before retiring to his bed so as to pump him for information.  Bilbo wasn’t going to make it easy for either of the two kings: they didn’t deserve it.

 

“He’s fallen out of love with you,” he said brutally, “and he intends to run away to a place where you won’t find him.  But you should be able to catch up with him in Rivendell.”

 

Thranduil looked very upset at this information.  Good, thought Bilbo.  The arrogant so-and-so deserved a bit of a put-down.  But, the elven king felt as though someone had punched him in the solar plexus.  Thorin didn’t love him any more!  He thought that the dwarf had run away because he was angry about something or perhaps there had been a misunderstanding and that, when he caught up with him, it would all be sorted out – after he had punched him on the nose, of course: it had never occurred to him that Thorin didn’t love him any more.  He went to bed but couldn’t sleep.  And, when Bilbo got up in the morning, he found that the elf had already gone.  The hobbit spent a very pleasurable day imagining how upset Thranduil doubtless felt and creating a fantasy scenario in which Thorin smashed the elven king to a pulp and then returned to Bag End to find some comfort in the arms of a certain hobbit.  He busily set about putting nice clean sheets on the bed and baking a chocolate cake, all ready for this eventuality.

 

.o00o.

 

It was a painful ride to Rivendell.  Thranduil felt as though his heart had been wrung out, trampled on and kicked aside.  How could Thorin not love him any more?  What had he done?  How many years had he wasted on this faithless partner?  And, more importantly, how could he survive without him? 

 

It was true that he had lived thousands of years without love and it hadn’t disturbed him: someone as cold and aloof as the elven king needed no soppy emotion to warm his icy heart.  He thought it had made him stronger.  He had made no friends over the centuries and even the one friend of recent years – Young Thorin, the heir of Durin – was drifting away as he became more and more involved with his family.  But, he always had Thorin’s love and that’s all that mattered.  And, having experienced that love, it stunned him to think that he must survive in the world without that love to support him. 

 

The anger that had been simmering just below the surface ever since he left Erebor threatened to boil over.  He had been played by Thorin: he had opened his heart to him and, once he had done that and was exposed and vulnerable, his love had been rejected.  He didn’t know what he would do once he stood face to face with him once more, but there were warning signs and they weren’t very promising.

 

The moment he entered Elrond’s palace, the stately elf was there to meet him, looking apprehensive and wary.  “Ah, he’s here,” was the only thought that went through Thranduil’s mind.

 

“Where is he?” he hissed through his teeth.

 

Elrond assessed the measure of the elven king’s mood and a look of concern passed over his face.  “No violence,” he said.

 

Thranduil managed to calm his features.  “No violence,” he promised.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt V

 

Elrond led the elf to Thorin’s room and looked at Thranduil sternly before leaving him alone.  The elven king opened the door very quietly: he had every intention of catching his lover off guard, with no time to prepare himself.  Only then might he get to the root of the matter.

 

His breath caught in his throat as he saw the dwarf standing by a large, open window which overlooked the lovely valley of Rivendell, his eyes closed in thought.  But, he held that massive, handsome head, with its beautiful profile, up to the warmth of the sun and a light breeze blew little, curling tendrils about his face.  As a hand squeezed his heart, Thranduil’s grief finally expressed itself in an explosion of anger.  And the first thing that Thorin knew of his presence was when a powerful hand seized him by the collar and flung him across the room.

 

Thranduil was incandescent in his rage.  It burned white-hot, blocking his mouth and making him speechless.  And, as Thorin lay there stunned by this unexpected assault, the elf dragged him to his feet and hit him in the face until his lip was split and his nose bleeding.  The violence of his feelings frightened even Thranduil and, when he saw the blood, he dropped the dwarf and stood back panting, rubbing his bruised knuckles.

 

Thorin had made no attempt to fight back.  He knelt, his head bowed in resignation, watching the bright blood drip upon the floor before him.  “Has that made you feel any better?” he asked wearily.

 

“No,” growled the elf through gritted teeth.

 

The dwarven king pressed his shirt sleeve against his nose, leaving a vivid stain there.  He stared at it for a moment.

 

“It’s all physical,” he said, “isn’t it?  The way you feel about and respond to me.”  He paused a moment.  “And that’s why I left you.  There is no love – because love is tender and beautiful and nurturing.  You feel about me as you would a possession and you guard me jealously and lose your temper when challenged or thwarted.  It’s like a version of dragon sickness.  There is only lust but no love.”

 

Thorin’s words fell like hammer blows that made the elf writhe in anguish.  “Bilbo said that you no longer love me,” he whispered.

 

Thorin gave this some thought.  “He’s wrong.  I have always loved you and I still love you but I cannot live with someone who merely desires me, however passionate that desire may be.”

 

“No!” exclaimed Thranduil.  “Lust and desire are just elements of my feelings for you.  I swear I love you, Thorin.”

 

The dwarf looked at him doubtfully and touched his damaged lip.

 

“Sorry,” muttered the elf.  “But the intensity of our relationship has caused us both to act badly over the years……..And I never accused you of not loving me that time you slashed me across the face with your whip.”  And he touched his own faint, silvery scar.

 

There was something in that and Thorin looked at him more intently.  He rose to his feet and said slowly: “Sleep with me, then, without touching me.  In that way you can prove that what you feel is an emotional attachment and not a physical one.”

 

They sent for food and ate in silence together.  The evening wore on and, at last, they got undressed and went to bed.  Thranduil lay on the very edge of the mattress, determined to show how he could control himself for love of the dwarf.  It was a long time before either of them went to sleep.

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil woke up with a start in the early hours of the morning.  To his horror, he was lying on Thorin’s chest with one leg cast over him and a hand tucked under the dwarf’s balls which he was gently squeezing.  He scuffled away as quickly as possible but a hand shot out and gripped him tightly by the arm.  “I didn’t mean to do that,” he gasped.  “It happened in my sleep.”

 

“With a bit of help from me,” said Thorin in an amused voice.  “I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep…..and I sort of encouraged you to roll over on top of me.”

 

“Cheat,” said Thranduil softly.

 

“Come back into my arms,” responded Thorin.  And he pulled the elf towards him once more.

 

They caressed each other gently, talking quietly together as they lay on the pillow.  It reminded Thranduil of the early days of their relationship and a bubble of happiness began to well up inside him.  Thorin eventually pulled him into a deep and passionate kiss and then rolled him on his back and, raising the elf’s leg over his hip, he slowly pushed into him.  The elven king moaned and, clutching the dwarf’s buttocks, he encouraged him to drive in deeper.

 

And, at that moment, Thorin’s depression began to lift: he didn’t care what it was that Thranduil felt for him.  This – whatever it was - felt completely right and this was where he wanted to be.   And this sensation, whether it stemmed from love or lust, was the beginning and the end of it.

 

.o00o.

 

It was some weeks before they finally arrived back in Mirkwood.  A flustered Legolas with a relieved look on his face met them at the gate.  “Thank goodness you’re back, Ada,” he exclaimed.  “You’ve been gone so long that we were beginning to worry about you.  And there's a pile of things that I need your advice on.”

 

“It’s nice to be needed,” said Thranduil smugly.

 

Yes, thought Thorin sadly, comparing this with his own situation back in Erebor.

 

But when they reached Erebor, it seemed that the whole stronghold had gathered in the courtyard to welcome their king home.

 

“It’s good to see you, laddie,” smiled Balin, pumping Thorin’s hand until he threatened to shake it off.

 

Brangwyn threw her arms around his neck and nearly smothered him.  “I can’t tell you how much we have missed you,” she cried.

 

Young Thorin looked so relieved it wasn’t true.  “Thank Mahal you’re back,” he exclaimed.  “I’ve begun to get into a bit of a mess.”

 

Dwalin just stood there and grinned as if his face would split in half.

 

Thorin looked around at them all, beaming with pleasure, and the last remnants of his depression disappeared.

 

“Everyone thought you weren’t coming back,” said Bris, “and so the elves of Mirkwood gave us a gift.  Something to remind us all of you,” she added with a cheeky grin.  And they bustled him into the dining hall and proudly displayed a portrait of Thorin hanging in a prominent position there.  “Sebastian made a copy, just for us,” the tattooist grinned.  And, there, on the wall for all to see, was the private painting that had been done for Thranduil, the one that the elven king had declared to be of the finest masturbatory quality.  Thorin turned a bright red.  “Quite an eyeful,” laughed Bris.  “We wouldn’t do without it now so it’s no use you protesting about it.”  And everyone roared with laughter.

 

.o00o.

 

“They did need me after all,” said Thorin in wonder as he and Thranduil lay in bed together that night.

 

“Of course they did,” the elven king replied.  “And,” he added, “his voice growing deep and rough, “I need you too.  I’ve been staring at that painting all evening and now I’m rock-hard and desperately in need of a fuck.”

 

Thorin laughed and wrapped his legs around his lover’s waist.  “But don’t forget to reassure me,” he said as Thranduil thrust into him with a relieved groan, “that this is all in the name of love not lust.”

 

“Oh, definitely no lust involved,” gasped the elf into his true love’s powerful throat as he picked up speed.  “No lust involved at all!”

 

.o00o.

 

**Oh dear!  Poor Thorin and his insecurities.  Poor Thranduil!  But, we always have a happy ending.**

**If you want to read the other stories referred to in this one:**

**Billbo and Bree are involved in**

**_The Kings and the Brothel_ **

**_The Kings and the Reunion_ **

**Bilbo ‘escapes’ in _The Kings and the Piercing_.**

**And the erotic portraits are painted in:**

****

**_The Kings – Servant and Master_.**

**Writing this one was like pulling teeth but I expect that I shall have a go at another in the not too distant future.  Thank you very much for your support.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
